Wintertide (The Riyria Revelations #5)

The fire snapped. She felt its elemental eye turn away and Arista entered the blackened doorway. She walked into an inferno of smoke and fire. Everything around her was burning. Hot currents of air whipped and gusted, blasting through the building’s interior. She moved through a raging river of smoky air that parted around her.

After finding the scorched wooden stairs, she carefully began to climb. Beneath her feet the planks fractured, splintered, and popped. With the protection of Esrahaddon’s robe, she felt warmth but nothing more. Breathing through the material, Arista found fresh, cool air.

“Thanks Esra,” she muttered, pushing forward into the thick, surging smoke.

She heard a muffled cry from above and climbed. On the third floor, she found Modina. The empress was in the center of a small room, hands and feet bound. The fire was busy enjoying the older, drier timber of the main brace on the far side of the room and ignored the greener floorboards where Modina lay. Running along the rafters it ate into the supporting beams with wolfish delight.

“Not much time,” the princess said, glancing up. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Modina answered.

Arista cursed herself for not wearing a dagger as her fingers struggled to untie the empress’s hands. Once loose, they worked to free her feet.

Modina coughed and gagged. Arista removed the robe. Instantly the intense heat slammed into her. She wrapped the garment over their shoulders like a blanket and held one of the sleeves to her mouth.

“Breathe through the robe,” she told Modina over the roaring blaze.

The two women moved down the stairs together. Arista kept her focus on the fire’s intentions and warned it away when it came too close. A timber cracked overhead and crashed with the sound of thunder. The building shuddered with the blow. A step snapped under Arista, and Modina pulled her forward in time to save the princess from a two-story fall.

“We can thank the dungeon for you not weighing much,” Modina said through the sleeve pressed against her mouth.

They reached the ground floor and raced out together. The moment Modina emerged, Amilia threw her arms around her.

“There’s someone else up there,” Sir Breckton announced. “In that upper window near the end.”

“Help!” Saldur cried. “Someone help me!”

A few looked to Arista, but she made no move to re-enter the building.

“HELP ME!” he screamed.

Arista stepped back to get a better view. The old man was in tears. His face transfigured with horror.

“Arista!” he pleaded, spotting her. “In the name of Novron…help me child.”

“It’s a shame,” she shouted back, her voice rising above the roar of the fire, “that Hilfred isn’t here to save you.”

There was another loud crack and Saldur’s eyes filled with panic. He grabbed the windowsill and clung to it as the floor gave way beneath him. With a final scream, his fingers slipped and Maurice Saldur, former Bishop of the Nyphron Church, co-regent and architect of the New Empire, vanished from view into the inferno.





***

Hadrian was bent over the bridge’s edge, looking over the side. His eyes fixated on the spot far below where the body hit the river. A gust of wind revealed a familiar cloak that flapped out from below the skirt of the bridge.

His heart beat faster as he spotted four fingers clinging to a hidden lip that ran beneath the span. He hurriedly wrapped his feet around a lamppost and lowered himself farther. Royce was there, just out of reach. His partner’s left hand held the underside of the Langdon, his feet dangling free.

“Royce!” Hadrian called.

His partner did not look up.

“Royce—damn you, look at me!”

Royce continued to stare down into the foaming waters as the wind whipped his black cape like the broken wings of a bird.

“Royce, I can’t reach you,” Hadrian shouted, extending his arm toward his friend. “You have to help me. You need to reach with your other hand so I can pull you up.”

There was a pause.

“Merrick is dead,” Royce said softly.

“I know.”

“Gwen is dead.”

Hadrian paused, “Yes.”

“I—I burned Modina alive.”

“Royce, goddamn it! That doesn’t matter. Please, look at me.”

Slowly, Royce tilted his head up. His hood fell away and tears streaked his cheeks. He refused to meet Hadrian’s eyes.

“DON’T DO IT!” Hadrian yelled.

“I—I don’t have anything left,” Royce muttered, his words almost stolen by the wind. “I don’t—”

“Royce, listen to me. You have to hang on. Don’t let go. Don’t you dare let go. Do you hear me? Are you listening to me, Royce Melborn? You have to hang on, Royce. Please…Give me your hand. Give me your hand!”

Royce’s head snapped up. He focused on Hadrian and there was a curious look in his eyes. “What—What did you say?”

“I said I can’t reach you. I need your help.”

Hadrian extended his arm farther.

Royce sheathed Alverstone and swung his body. The momentum thrust his right hand upward. Hadrian grabbed it and lifted.